Diversions
by lisek16
Summary: Where does Irina end and Laura begin?


Title: Diversions  
Author: Lisek16 (Lisek16@yahoo.com)  
Disclaimer: If you thought I owned the rights to Alias, I'm sorry to burst your bubble and inform you that I don't. I'm sure the trauma ranks right up there with finding out the truth about the Easter bunny, Santa and the tooth fairy.   
Genre: Drama/ Stream of Consciousness/ April CM Challenge  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Where does Irina end and Laura begin?  
Timeline: post S02E01 "the enemy walks in"  
  
Sodium pentothal incurs the truth. After injection it's nearly impossible to formulate, let alone execute, a lie. It causes one to face reality; it causes you to come face to face with everything you have been hiding. It's a medicinal search for the truth. It breaks the weak, and the strong alike.  
  
But to break me, they'd never resort to such a painless alternative. I always thought they'd find a more clever way to break me beyond repair. I knew since the day I turned myself in that the question on everyone's mind was what is the truth behind the lies? Behind "The Man"? Behind Laura Bristow? The truth about Irina Derevko.  
  
They must have known deep down I was too strong to be easily broken. After all, lying came as second nature to me, I had been lying for almost thirty years. Lying to the world but mostly just lying to myself.  
  
*  
  
My back was turned to the glass wall, but I could sense a presence behind me. Without turning around I called out to the vast emptiness, "I said no visitors."  
  
The voice didn't respond verbally or physically. It was as if I was speaking to a ghost, an omniscient presence.  
  
"Irina, I know you were expecting Sydney, but before I can approve her clearance, I need to ask you a few questions." A female voice finally answered.   
  
"I'll only speak to my daughter." I callously responded.  
  
"I understand, but perhaps you'll reconsider?"  
  
I shake my head, and sigh. She'll have to take that as a no.   
  
But obviously the choice isn't up to me any longer, because she's still there.   
  
"My name is Patricia Barnett. I just want to talk…" she let her voice fall on deaf ears.  
  
"I have nothing to say."  
  
"I'm sure that's not true. Tell me about yourself. Let's start there." Responded the female voice.  
  
Again she was answered by the deadly silence.  
  
But I thought about the question for a moment.   
  
About 30 miles northeast of Moscow, you can find the remnants of a childhood. Of a past left behind out of necessity. These are the beginnings of Irina Derevko. My roots. My mother raised me alone; my father had passed through her life like many men before. He was a businessman, or a military strategist. My mother was never clear on which.   
  
I attended public schools, where I answered every question. My hand was always raised. My curiosity was never curbed, not even when I was branded a troublemaker. To my teachers raising your hand was a sign that you questioned them, not just the historical data or the mathematical formulas they taught, but also their authority.   
  
After graduation, I was lost. There was no purpose, no meaning to my life. That was about the time Alexander Khasinau recruited me and I found my rightful place among the KGB.  
  
A few months into training, Khasinau called me aside and asked me if I had ever been to America. I had laughed at the time; I hadn't even been out of Russia at that point. Not even on vacation, not even ever. He handed me a folder. In it was a myriad of pictures and names. Thirteen names to be specific. Thirteen high-ranking CIA officers: Jack Bristow among them.  
  
He told me that I had six years to take care of them. I'd gain entrance through marriage, and then my job would begin. I'd make them look like accidents, or assassinations. Khasinau didn't have a preference, he wanted them disposed of and I was more than happy to oblige. After all at that point they were just names, just faces. They weren't people. They didn't have families, or children. They were just names on a sheet of crisp white paper; they were just thirteen tasks to be completed. They were my to-do list.  
  
Khasinau gave me a chance to back out. He told me there could be no looking back. After this operation I'd no longer be Irina Derevko. I'd no longer be a rookie; I'd be an operative of one of the greatest world powers. This excited me, I didn't even think about my objective, just on the task at hand. Just on Jack.   
  
For weeks, months even I examined surveillance footage of him. I learned to dress in a manner that would appease him. I was briefed on his favorite foods, and on anything and everything American. It was deep cover mission which meant Khasinau refused to leave anything up to chance. He didn't want me to be extracted early, he wanted success and he wouldn't accept failure.   
  
Soon enough I flew to California. I was terrified, but Khasinau wouldn't let me show it. He noticed me shaking in the dark alley behind the bar I was to meet Jack in. He looked at me and shook his head. "Are you nervous?" he asked.  
  
I shook my head, but he knew otherwise. I was nineteen. Nineteen and expected to play the role of a 24 year old. I was expected to be a wife, to be a spy, to murder. The expectations were overwhelming, but I kept reminding myself that I needed to do this.  
  
My mother gave me her diamond earrings because she was proud that I was making something of myself. Khasinau selected me because he knew I was up to the challenge. I just kept reminding myself that the hardest part was winning his heart; once we were married everything would fall into place. I had to believe that.   
  
Khasinau looked at me, waiting an answer. So I gave him one. "I'm fine."  
  
He laughed again, "Go." He said.   
  
He left me in that alley. I tried to compose myself as I mustered my strength and walked into the smoky bar. Two months later we were engaged, and six months after that we were married. I was a month ahead of schedule, but there was one problem, I was in love.  
  
At first It was easy. I'd bat my eyes, smile, and laugh at a joke or two. It was easy to grin and bear it, to fake it. But then I became Laura, I truly became the Alias. When he asked me to be his wife in front of G-d and country it was real. Etched in stone, finite and dangerous.  
  
We honeymooned around Paris, we stayed in a romantic villa, our own getaway where I had no choice but to fall in love with Jack. I knew him in every sense of the word. Including the biblical sense. I lost my virginity to him. I wasn't pretending that night, I was Laura. I was Mrs. Jack Bristow. That was my first mistake, it was an experience that bonded us, but I couldn't afford to bond. In that night I forget all about Irina, all about Khasinau. All about my objectives and my past. I was Laura, I was happy.  
  
A few months after our return to Los Angeles I discovered I was pregnant. When I first found out my maternal side shone through. I celebrated with Jack. We looked up baby names and discussed plans for a nursery. It was perfect, until my first meeting with Khasinau.  
  
"How is everything?"  
  
"Everything is well. According to plan." I responded trying to dodge the truth.  
  
"He has not grown suspicious?"  
  
"No. He loves me." I answered honestly.  
  
"Do you love him?"  
  
I didn't respond, because I did. That scared me, because our marriage was forever, but Laura had an expiration date. I didn't want to think about Jack then. They were two separate lives, lived by the same woman. Mrs. Jack Bristow was not the deceitful KGB officer that Khasinau recruited. They were separate.  
  
"Where does he think you are?"  
  
"At the market. buying groceries." I answered.  
  
"Are you with child?" he asked.  
  
I took a moment and nodded. There was no use lying, he'd know soon enough.  
  
He sighed "Abort the child."  
  
I refused, and Khasinau suggested I think about it.  
  
I did. I sat in front of the mirror and couldn't imagine killing my unborn child. I imagined my future daughter swinging in the park, or my future son playing football with Jack. I thought I was going to have a girl, woman's intuition. I prayed that I could give my daughter a better life, one where she had control. She deserved to be away from this. She deserved some sense of normalcy. So I pinned all my childish dreams on my unborn child. Ballet lessons. Picnics in the park. Piano lessons. I knew I couldn't bring myself to harm that potential. It was a second childhood, it was a fresh start. It was a diversion.  
  
Khasinau accepted my decision, but not happily. He threatened my life, and my daughter's life. He gave me my deadlines for my murders all set in stone. Each date, each locale, specific to its victim. He had thought this out. I finally had to focus on the immediate future, and no longer be Laura. Not just Laura.  
  
A year after Sydney's birth was when that double life really began. When Jack was away on business, in London, or New York, Israel or Ontario, I'd be away as well. I'd hired a nanny and told her relatives were ill. I'd do what I'd have to, after all Khasinau warned me that if I didn't comply that Sydney would disappear from my life. I couldn't have that. So I killed for my daughter. I killed to protect her.  
  
For someone else it would have been easier. They would have left long ago. They would have killed Sydney out of obedience, and betrayed Jack in a heartbeat. They wouldn't have waited for deadlines, they would made their own. But I was young, I was scared, I didn't have a spine, I didn't have a thing.  
  
My devotion for my daughter gave me the strength to kill. I killed eleven within the designated time frame. They began just targets for me. They'd die, I'd be done. It was simple, too simple. Then number twelve came. I was about to pull the trigger like so many times before but his wallet became visible and pictures of a son spilled out. He had a child, and I couldn't do it. How could I take a father away from his son? After all the people I'd maimed and murdered in this job, I couldn't do it. It mattered too much, so I refused. Khasinau wouldn't have a failure. No, He couldn't accept defeat. He came from nowhere and shot him himself. I wept and told Khasinau that I was done. I was done being Irina Derevko. I was done killing and lying. I was going to Jack and was prepared to tell him everything. I would turn myself in, because I had enough of this deceit. I was threatening, I wouldn't really have risked my husband and daughter for an agency I owed my life. I was hoping Khasinau would cut me free.  
  
He didn't. He told me I had 48 hours before my extraction. But there was one last hitch, Jack Bristow was thirteen. I wept inside, but I agreed. Khasinau informed me that if I told warned Jack, Sydney would be dead. I accepted this. I couldn't stand by idly though. I planned the drowning knowing Jack would be thrown in protective custody and that Sydney would be looked after. At least I could save them, if I couldn't save myself.  
  
Years later, nearly thirty, Khasinau still had a hold on me. He hired Steven Haladki to watch over my daughter. One false move and her life would be taken. Khasinau set me up as his scapegoat and gave me the guise "the man". I stole Rambaldi artifacts and gave Khasinau copies, while I hid the real ones. I planned to exchange the artifacts for assurance that my daughter's life would no longer be used as a pawn in this game.  
  
He refused, he had to die. Then I turned myself in, I walked up to the receptionist and said. "Tell Devlin, He has a walk-in. I don't care if he's in a meeting or on lunch. Just tell him Irina Derevko just turned herself in. That should grab his attention."  
  
They threw me in a cell, they interrogated me and through all those questions all I said was "I'll only speak to my daughter."  
  
Every action I had taken for nearly thirty years resulted in an equal and opposite reaction. Every action resulted in something else. Every action pulled me further away from Laura, and closer to Irina. I was happy as Laura. Part of me, still is Laura. It was never just a mission, it was a part of my life. A mother's work is never done. Sydney may be grown up but is still a lot of protecting she needs. She has no idea… the people she's dealing with are far worse than me.  
  
Sydney will never know. She will never know what I gave up, what I put myself through. She will believe I am the legacy, she will hate me and never understand. How could she, I don't even fully understand.  
  
I blink and notice I'm still in the tiled cage; Patricia Barnett is still staring at me with her inquisitive eyes.  
  
"I guess now isn't as good a time as any, to have our little conversation."  
  
"Why did you turn yourself in?" she began, but then decided she had asked the wrong question. "Sooner or later all your inner demons are going to surface and haunt you…"  
  
She leaves and I think to myself, they already have.  
  
THE END 


End file.
